Ordinary Frivolities
by lalaland01
Summary: Meredith Gordon shows up on the doorstep of 221b and informs Sherlock of their illegitimate daughter Claire, forcing him to take responsibility for a fully grown and incredibly headstrong daughter. A high functioning sociopath becomes a father, the 'British Government' becomes an uncle and Mrs Hudson is overjoyed at another person to spoil.
1. The Undead

**Here is my latest story! Please R&R! :)**

**DISCLMAIMER: I own nothing but plot and any OCs. Enjoy! **

* * *

Meredith took a deep, shaky breath as she stood at the door of 221B Baker Street, not knowing whether to knock or simply walk away. her mind and her body were at odds, and it was an incredibly confusing situation for her to be in. Internal conflict was no exactly a fun thing to undergo, after all.

Eventually, she managed to force herself to raise her hand, and her knuckles were soon rapping on the wood of the door with three resounding _thuds_. She head footsteps from within the flat, and the scraping of locks being undone, and the door was opened wide with a creak.

An old woman stood before her, dressed nicely in a floral purple dress and gold jewellery with her grey streaked hair pinned back. "Hello there dear," she greeted warmly. "What can I do for you?"

"I am here to see Sherlock Holmes," Meredith replied, forcing the words past the lump in her throat as she smoothed her hands over her grey skirt self-consciously.

"Oh!" the woman exclaimed. "He's not taking clients at the moment I am afraid, but maybe if you come back in a day or so he will be available. God knows it won't take him long to finish the one he's working on now!"

"Clients?" Meredith pondered aloud. "I'm sorry, but this is really more of a...personal visit."

The old woman's eyebrows hit her hairline. "Oh," she said before stepping aside a little. "Come on in then dear, but be warned. He's quite wretched when he's working a case. A sweet lad, but near impossible to live with!"

"I'll be careful," Meredith assured her, stepping into the flat. She walked up the stairs and into a living room type area, accompanied by the old lady who had followed her.

"Mrs Hudson," a voice called, and a man walked into the room. "You didn't tell me you were expecting company."

"Oh, she's not her for me," the woman, Mrs Hudson, replied. "She's here to see Sherlock."

"Oh, he's not taking cases at the moment. His already got a particularly difficult one, but maybe if you come back in a week-"

"I'm not here with a case," Meredith cut him off. "Well, I suppose I am, but I hope he will not treat it as such. Anyway, I am here to see him and I really need to speak with him."

"Sherlock? Really?" he asked with an eyebrow raised. "He treats everything like a case!"

"Not this, I hope," Meredith replied. "May I see him?"

"Of course. He's, ah, just through here," the man directed, waving her into yet another sitting room where the outline of a figure could be seen sitting in a chair, looking off a piece of paper and muttering to himself.

"John, could you put the kettle on? I need some tea to drink," Sherlock called out to the man, who must have been named John.

John cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ah, Sherlock? You've got a visitor," he announced.

"I've already got a case," he replied simply. "Tell them to go away."

"I don't think that will work, Sher," Meredith cut in, and Sherlock froze, slowly rising from the chair and turning to face them, his blue eyes glaring at the woman in his flat. "Who are you?" he demanded, his fists clenched and shaking at his sides.

"It's me," she told him. "It's Meredith."

"No," Sherlock half whispered. "Who are you?"

"Sherlock," Meredith sighed. "It really is me!"

"NO!" Sherlock erupted. He stepped closer to her and looked her in the eye. "Who. Are. You?" he whispered, and John looked genuinely concerned and ready to interfere at any moment. Mrs Hudson stood at the door, her hands clasped together in fear, wondering what could possibly be going on.

"Meredith," she replied honestly. "My name is Meredith Gordon."

Sherlock's inner struggle was evident on his face for the first time in a long time. "No," he eventually managed to choke out. "You're dead. Meredith Gordon...is dead."

"I'm here," Meredith replied with a soft smile. "I'm alive."

"No," Sherlock continued to deny. "Meredith Gordon was killed in a fire with her daughter twenty years ago."

"You're not the only one who can play dead, Sherlock," she told him smartly, and he looked at her in shock. "Oh I read the papers. _Reichenbach Fraud Returns! Fraud Proved Hero!_" She snorted. "You always did love the attention, Sher."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, and his voice almost broke the hearts of all the others in the room. "Why would you pretend? Why wouldn't you come to me?"

Meredith's jaw hit the floor. "I hardly think you would have been happy to see me!"

"But if you were in trouble I would never have turned you and Claire away," he reasoned. "I may not be a fan of ordinary human emotions, but I am not a monster."

Meredith sighed. "I needed to get away. I did something stupid, and I will always regret it."

"What did you do?" he demanded. "What could have been so bad that you had to fake your own death? Someone was after you, obviously," he deduced, and Meredith nodded.

"As I said, I did some stupid things and I am not proud of them."

"Well, you're alive. Bloody good show," he said, rolling his eyes. "Have a nice day. Oh, and congratulations on living. You've done a stellar job at it."

As he turned to walk out of the room, Meredith grabbed his arm. "Sherlock, please," she begged. "I need your help."

"Someone's after you again," he said, but Meredith shook her head.

"No, I am safe. But Claire...she's in trouble, Sherlock, and only you can help her," she told him honestly.

"And why is that?" he asked with a smirk. "Don't you have anyone else in your life that's brilliant?"

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Oh, I have plenty of brilliant colleagues and companions that would be more than happy to help me out, not for my sake but for Claire's, but only you can do this."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

She glanced at John for a moment. "We may need to discuss this in private."

Sherlock snorted. "Nonsense! Anything you can say in front of me you can say in front of John."

Meredith sighed deeply. "Then at least sit down," she insisted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "My dead ex-girlfriend just walked through the door to announce her status among the living. I think I can handle this."

"Ex-girlfriend?" John asked, an eyebrow cocked comically.

Sherlock ignored him and continued. "I think I will be alright."

"Okay," Meredith said doubtfully. "Claire wasn't Nathan's."

He stared at her. "So you were cheating on me with someone else then?"

"No," Meredith replied, shaking her head. "Just you and Nathan."

Sherlock paled dangerously, doing the math in his head hurriedly. "I'm..."

"The reason you're the only one that can help is her is because...you're her father."

* * *

Claire smiled to herself as she lounged on the sand, soaking in the warmth of the sun. Her toes shifted in the sand, and she held back a laugh as the sand pricked at her sensitive feet. She readjusted her shades on her face and sighed, beginning to breath in time with the waves. She had learnt it as a relaxing technique, and a way to let go of the stresses of her life, but eventually it had just become second nature to her. It was calming, and had sent her to sleep on a number of occasions.

She remained this way for some time before footsteps reached her ears. She didn't bother to open her eyes or check who it was as there was only one other person with her on the private beach.

"Hey there," a warm voice greeted, and she felt a pair of soft lips on her forehead. She hummed contentedly in reply. "You falling asleep on me again Bear?"

Claire smiled and pushed her shades up onto her head so that nothing blocked her gaze from his. "You know the sun makes me sleepy Gabriel," she replied, her hazel eyes smiling into his brown ones.

"Well then it's time to wake up then," he told her with a smirk, tucking a bit of her hair behind her ear.

"Why?" she groaned.

"Because we have about 15 minutes to walk back home before dinner burns," he replied carelessly, twirling one of her blonde locks around his finger.

Claire shoved his hand away and shot up. "You just left the pasta on the stove?!" She grabbed her towel and flip flops and began to run up the beach.

Gabriel chuckled and began to run after, a triumphant smirk on his face.

God he loved teasing her.

* * *

"Oh. My. God," John breathed as he and Sherlock both lowered themselves into chairs at the same time, and Meredith sat herself down next to Sherlock. "H-how old is she?" John asked quietly.

Meredith smiled at him. "Twenty-two," she told him, before turning back to Sherlock. "She's beautiful, Sher. Your eyes, your smile...here, I have a photo of her for you," she said, pulling a picture out of her purse. It was a copy of Claire dressed as a cheerleader when she was sixteen.

Sherlock hardly glanced at the picture. "It hardly matters any more. It's not like you could introduce us. You're dead, remember?"

Meredith ignored him and showed the picture to John.

"Holy shit!" John exclaimed, his eyes wide as he took in the image of his best friend's daughter. "Does Claire know you're alive?"

"That's...a long story," Meredith replied. "When that apartment building caught fire, I tried to find Claire, but I couldn't. So I ran. I thought she was lost...until one day, I got a phone call from a Claire Bennet, saying that she had been searching for her biological mother, and that she thought I was it. She came to the trailer I was staying in at the time, and to this day I have no idea how the hell she found me. Resourceful, that one. Anyway, we got to talkin' and I was amazed at how incredible she was. She had watched her friend being murdered, and had been chased by that same murderer, Sylar, all on the night she was supposed to be Homecoming Queen, but she was unfazed. It was incredible. She just needed to know that she had a family, and that was all."

"So she does know that you're alive," Sherlock said.

Meredith shook her head. "No. Two years after we first met, that same serial killer went after us both, shutting us in a facility along with Nathan's mother Angela and some other people. In the end, the killer tried to kill me, but I escaped and ran for my life. I have been for the past five years, never stopping to look over my shoulder in case he was there, waiting for me. He is rather big on vengeance, and would hate to know that I had escaped relatively unscathed. However, the price was that Claire now thinks I died in the building after Sylar set it on fire."

"What happened?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"What happened to make you need to come her for my help? You must have gone back to check on Claire and seen something that made you need to come to me to help her."

"She's with him," Meredith replied.

Sherlock sighed. "I do apologize Meredith, but as incredible as I may be, I do not possess the gift of telepathy. Who is 'him'?"

"Sylar. She's in love with him."

* * *

It took them only 5 minutes to get there as Claire ran as though there were dogs at her heels, and neither of them really ever got physically sore or tired. She dashed into the house and ran through the hall until she reached the kitchen where a pot sat on the stove. She went to flick the off switch, only to find it already in said position.

She turned to see Gabriel leaning against the door frame, chuckling to himself.

"Hey!" Claire exclaimed, moving to whack him, but he was too quick for her and dodged her attack.

"Darling, you can attack me all you like, but it was worth it to see you run like hell! I swear even the trees jumped out of your way!" he laughed.

"I've been craving pasta all week, and you almost made me think I wouldn't get any!" she accused, sounding very annoyed.

"Almost?" he asked, sounding offended.

"Almost," she confirmed with a hiss as she turned back to the stove and flicked it back on to heat the now lukewarm pasta. "But don't worry. You're just not going to get any!" she told him in a sing-song voice.

"Honey, you can't possibly eat all of the yourself!"

Claire turned and walked really close to him so that their lips were inches apart. "You know that's not what I was talking about," she told him with a smirk before tearing herself away and beginning to stir the pot. Not that she hadn't already.

"Oh really?" Gabriel asked, drawing out his words. He walked much closer to her, but did not touch her. "Are you sure you can go through with that?"

Claire fought the need to gulp. "Yeah," she managed to squeak.

"Really sure," he asked once more, moving even closer to her, but still not making contact.

Claire desperately tried to focus on stirring the now hot pasta as his breath tickled her cheek. "Yeah, I'm really sure."

"Really really sure?"

Claire tried to ignore him and went to get a piece of pasta and taste it. However, the moment it touched her tongue, she cringed and dropped the spoon to floor, spitting the pasta out into the sink.

Gabriel frowned with concern, all flirtatiousness gone. "What's wrong?"

"The pasta is gross! Did you use a recipe?"

"Yeah! It can't be that bad Claire," he insisted, grabbing a spoon and taking some of the pasta and tasting it for himself. "Claire, that's fine!"

"Gabriel, that is disgusting!" she protested.

"Maybe you got a burnt bit or something. Here, try another bit," he told her, holding his spoon up to her mouth. She licked at a bit of the sauce and instantly ran from the room, headed for the bathroom.

Gabriel threw the spoon in the sink and left the pot on the stove as he ran after her. He found her in the bathroom, hunched over the porcelain sink.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, feeling very confused and worried.

"I don't know," she replied. "I just...I don't know."

He placed a hand on the small of her back, his thumb rubbing her in small, soothing circles. "Do you want to lie down?"

"I don't know! I'm not supposed to get sick Gabriel!" she exclaimed, visibly upset. She rubbed her temples. "I think must just be in my head. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked her, not removing his hand from her back.

She nodded unconvincingly and stood on shaky feet, turning to leave the room. The moment the smell of the pasta, now burning slightly, hit her she did a quick U-turn and ran for the bathroom, hunching over the toilet bowl and emptying the contents of her stomach.

Before she had even finished there was a warm hand at her waist and her hair was being pulled back from her face gently.

"Gabriel," she half whimpered as she began to realize what was happening.

"Shh. I'm here, whatever you need," he assured her.

"Gabriel, I think I know what this is."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

"No," Sherlock said simply.

"Pardon?"

"No. She can't be in love with him," he repeated.

"But she is," Meredith protested.

"No, she can't be."

"And why is that, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Because a child of mine would have more brains than that," he replied.

Meredith's face fell. "Then you've obviously never been in love," she told him. "The head doesn't rule the heart, Sherlock. Claire is making impulsive decisions, and she needs both her parents to help her out of this."

"So you want me to talk to her and magically fix this?" he asked.

"Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like that, but yeah, that's the gist of it I suppose," she told him, sounding unsure. "A two parent approach is supposed to be the most effective in situations like this."

"And where did you read that, a magazine? Or one of those foolish parenting books? Then again, I suppose there isn't one that really applies to your situation. 'What To Do When Your Child Is In Love With A Serial Killer For Dummies' is an excellent buy, or so I hear."

"Can we please skip the sarcastic remarks?" Meredith asked.

John shook his head. "Tried that before. He didn't talk all day. Not that that's a bad thing."

Sherlock rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Look, I don't have time to play 'Daddy Dearest' at the moment, sorry. I will put my best man on it though," he said, looking to John.

The doctor's jaw dropped. "Sherlock!" he exclaimed. "This is your daughter, not one of your cases! Be a man!"

"I shall approach this matter as I do all other issues in my life," he replied calmly.

"What, get me to deal with it?" John asked.

"Claire is not an issue, she's a young woman," Meredith protested.

"Sherlock, I am disappointed in you," an angry voice came from the doorway, and the three of them turned to see a very unimpressed Mrs Hudson.

"Mrs Hudson, this really isn't-"

"Sherlock, shut your mouth and listen to me for once! This is a young woman, and not just any young woman, but your daughter! If she is in trouble and needs your help, it is your responsibility to drop everything for her. It's what parents to. John is right, you do need to be a man," the old woman finished sternly before turning on her heel and walking away.

"Well, I'm with Mrs Hudson on this," John said, standing up and stretching. "I am happy to help with whatever is needed, but Sherlock, you need to work on this too."

Meredith's eyes followed John as he walked out of the room. "Sherlock, please," she said sadly. "This means a lot to me. She's your daughter for God's sake!"

He sighed. "I will think it over. Come back this time tomorrow," he ordered, and she bit her lip.

"Okay," she said softly before standing and leaving Sherlock alone.

* * *

**Will he say yes? Will he say no? Alert to find out! :) Please leave a review, and I will try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible.****  
**

**Next chapter, Claire and Gabriel deal with the implications of their situation, while Sherlock comes to terms with his new found fatherhood with some help from an unlikely source. **


	2. Happy Fathers' Day!

**AN: Aaaand here's the next chapter! It's slightly longer than the last, so I hope you enjoy! :) By the way, this story is assuming that Claire never jumped off the ferris wheel, and that Primatech was reformed to be a force for good in the Special community.**

**WARNINGS: Violence, sexual references and swearing. Only minor on all accounts at this point in time. Let me know if the rating should be changed. I suck at judging that kind of thing myself. **

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the plot and any OCs. **

* * *

**HAPPY FATHERS' DAY**

**_"What I really want to tell him is to pick up that baby of his and hold her tight, to set the moon on the edge of her crib and hang her name up in the stars."_  
**

**_-Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper_**

* * *

"Claire!" an excited voice called, and Claire and Gabriel turned to see a smiling Tracy walking quickly toward them, her heels clicking on the tiles as she hurriedly made her way to them.

"Hey Trace," Claire said, smiling as the older woman enveloped her in a hug, holding her tight.

"Oh, it's so good to have you home!" Tracy exclaimed, releasing Claire and placing a quick peck on Gabriel's cheek.

"It's good to be home," Gabriel replied. "I'm gonna go and get our bags. You two ladies stay here, and don't get into any trouble."

"Pfft! When have we ever gotten into trouble?" Tracy asked as she wrapped an arm around Claire.

"All the time, Trace, all the time," he called back with a laugh.

Tracy turned to Claire. "Sooo...?"

"So what?"

"Sooo, how was your super romantic trip with your super hot guy?" she asked excitedly.

"It was great," Claire replied with a smile, but Tracy narrowed her eyes.

"Something's wrong. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Claire protested, putting her hands up in defense.

"You have the look."

"What look?" Claire asked.

"The 'something's wrong' look," Tracy replied.

"I do not have a 'something's wrong' look!" Claire protested.

"You do so!"

"Do not!"

"Do so!"

"Do not!"

"Do so!"

"Do nut!"

Tracy laughed. "You said donut."

"Shut up."

"You ladies getting into trouble all ready?" Gabriel asked, walking back over to them.

"No, Claire's just being wrong again," Tracy said, taking one of the bags from him with a smirk before winking at the former cheerleader.

"Woah, Trace. You're on your own there," Gabriel said as they began to walk out of the airport and into the car park where Tracy had parked in the short term parking section.

"Thanks for picking us up by the way," Claire said.

"No problem C," Tracy replied. "Got me a day off of work, and I get to be the first to see you crazy kids after that vacation. You do realize how hard it was for us all to convince you both to leave for the week?"

Claire shrugged. "We wanted to hang around and keep helping out."

"Help out? Everything is fine," Tracy scoffed. "The only way to get you both to go was convince each of you that it was best for the other."

"You manipulated us into going?" Claire asked, an eyebrow cocked, though she wasn't all that displeased as she had really had a wonderful time, despite the rather shocking discovery two days ago.

"I can't say I'm not just a little thankful you did," Gabriel told Tracy with a charming smile. "Now, which one is yours?" he asked, motioning to the cars.

"It's just over here," she said, taking the lead and walking over to a small, silver car. "I just got it a couple of weeks ago. I thought you guys already saw it?"

"Nope," Claire replied as she helped Gabriel dump their suitcases in the trunk. "But it's cute. Kinda suits you."

"Thanks. Now hop in kids! Who wants to ride shotgun?" she asked.

"We can both just sit in the back," Gabriel replied.

Tracy glared at them. "No way. I am _not _having a repeat of New Year's."

"Hey, that was not as bad as you say it was!" Claire insisted.

"Really? 'Cause I remember you and your man having a pretty hot make out sesh in the back of the car while I was driving," she retorted.

Gabriel chuckled and slammed the trunk shut. "_Sesh_? Have we missed some kind of new language forming in the week we've been gone?"

"No, people were saying 'sesh' before you left," she replied with a frown. "Everyone says it!"

"Whatever Trace. Claire, you can sit in the front," Gabriel said, opening the door for her.

She smiled at him. "Thank you sir," she said flirtatiously as she hopped into the car.

Tracy groaned as she settled in the driver's seat. "Don't start you two," she said. "I can practically see you making out in your minds."

"We are not!" Claire argued.

"Are too!" Tracy replied as she started the car and began to back out of the park. "Gabe, be a dear and check the left. I can't see if anything's coming."

Gabriel craned his head back to look at the road. "You're good," he told her.

"Thanks," she said, swinging out and driving off. "Now, I need to catch you two up on all the goss!"

"Goss? Oh god there's another word," Gabriel said, rubbing his forehead.

Tracy laughed. "Grow up Gabe. Anyway, some interesting things have happened since you two crazy kids left."

"Like what?" Claire asked her.

"Well...Danny and Rachel got engaged," she announced proudly.

Claire smiled slowly. "That's great Trace,'' she said insincerely. "Who are they again?"

"The guy with the crooked nose and the chick with the 'Harry Potter' glasses," Tracy said with a grin. "They look adorable together. Anyway, they're just gonna have a small wedding somewhere. They're happy, and it's nice to have such an in love couple around the place."

Gabriel and Claire cleared their throats at the same time.

"What, we're not 'in love' enough for you?" Gabriel asked, feigning offence.

"No," Tracy replied with a shrug. "But you guys are kind of more...you know."

"I know what you mean," Claire said with a nod.

"Well I apologizing for not being a part of the 'Secret Women's Telepathic Society', but can you please explain yourselves?" Gabriel asked them, and the two women laughed.

"People feel uncomfortable when they see you both together because chances are you've murdered one of their friends or family members," Tracy responded frankly, and Claire winced.

"Thanks for sugar coating it Trace," she said sarcastically.

"Any time honey bear," she replied sweetly. "It's fine. Gabe doesn't care. We're cool." She glanced at him in the rear view mirror and gave him a nod.

"It's fine Claire," Gabriel assured her. "It's true. And we both know that Tracy has never had a filter. Everyone knows to take what she says and automatically kind of dilute it."

"Dilute it?" Tracy shrieked, hitting the brakes a little too hard to stop for some traffic lights. "What, am I just too potent for you all?"

"Yep," he replied with a smirk, and Claire snorted.

"I think the two of you are ridiculous," she added in.

"Thanks hon," Tracy said, patting her knee.

"Tracy, both hands on the wheel," Gabriel commanded. "Need I remind you of the reason you had to get a new car in the first place?"

Tracy shuddered. "No, I remember. So does my shoulder."

"I'm sure it does," Claire chuckled.

"Wait, I didn't know you hurt your shoulder in the crash?" Gabriel asked. "I was told you came out of it relatively unscathed."

"I did, but then Claire hit me for being on the phone while I was driving," Tracy told him, and he laughed.

"Yeah, she packs a punch, doesn't she?" he agreed, and Tracy scoffed.

"Like you can talk. Not all of us can heal in a couple of seconds!"

"I'm not that violent," Claire defended herself. "I just...get pissed off sometimes. Normal people wouldn't blame me. I have to put up with you two all the time."

"Hey, you don't have to date me," Gabriel said. "You could just walk away, but noooo...I'm too charming."

Claire and Tracy exchanged a look before chuckling.

"What?" he asked. "I am charming!"

"Okay buddy. Whatever you say," Tracy said with a roll of her eyes.

* * *

Meredith moved in the day after her first visit to 221B, just as Sherlock had requested. She felt uncomfortable just showing up to live there, but it was convenient for her due to her current financial state.

Mornings were unusual, as she would end up cooking breakfast for the two men in the house. It was just the thing to do, seeing as they were accepting her into their space and all. However, it was often difficult to decide what to make them due to Sherlock's ever changing mind, and the fact that he had only begun to eat on her third day there after finishing up on the case he had been on. This, of course, meant the John spent hours typing away at his laptop for his blog, occasionally asking Sherlock a question about the case to ensure he was correct in his writings before publishing them.

It was, however, not long before an inevitable visitor dropped by Baker Street to properly acquaint himself with it's newest inhabitant.

It was a particularly dreary Tuesday, and Sherlock was playing furiously on his violin, trying to see how quickly he could play each of his favorite pieces. John was busy checking up on the blog, seeing as it was his day off at work, and Mrs Hudson was out having tea with a friend, which left Meredith cleaning up after breakfast.

The doorbell rang once, and once only. One, sharp press of a finger to allow a shrill cry to ring out through the flat, and Sherlock, of course, did not move to answer it. He obviously already knew who it was, after all.

John sighed at his friend and stood, placing his laptop on the coffee table in the lounge room. "I'll get it, shall I?" he said, and Sherlock didn't respond. He rolled his eyes and walked through the flat, smiling at Meredith as he passed her. He walked down the steps and up to the door, unlocking all three locks (that Sherlock insisted be kept locked at all times the door was shut) and swung the door open, not surprised at who he saw standing there, umbrella in hand.

"Hello John. Nice to see you again. Mind if I come in?"

"Of course Mycroft," he said boredly, stepping aside to allow the older Holmes access to the flat.

Mycroft rested his umbrella against the wall next to the door and gave John a cold smile. "I believe there is someone here whom I am yet to be acquainted with?" he prompted before turning and beginning to walk up the stairs.

"Umm, I don't know if that is a very good idea," John called after him hesitantly, feeling protective over Meredith and not particularly comfortable with Mycroft's presence. Something about the man always managed to make him uneasy.

Mycroft reached the top of the stairs and walked straight through to the sitting room where Sherlock was playing the violin.

"Greetings brother," he said with a cold smile, seating himself of one of the lounges.

"Mycroft," came the short reply.

"Sherlock, here's your tea," Meredith said as she entered the room and set the cup on the table. She turned to see Mycroft, whom she had heard come in. "Hi, I'm Meredith."

"I know," he replied coolly. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Mycroft Holmes."

She nodded. She still felt a little uncomfortable at the formal way of speaking the people around her used. She had grown up in trailer parks after all. "Oh, you must be Sherlock's brother. Nice to meet you too. Can I get you some tea? It might not be great since I'm still getting the hang of making it. We don't drink too much of it in the States, and I'm a beer girl."

"I am quite fine, thank you," he told her. "But I would like to speak with you."

She frowned. "What about?"

"The fact that you decided to return from the grave after all these years," he replied, and Sherlock immediately stopped playing.

"You knew," he said curiously, setting down the instrument and sitting across from his brother. He motioned for Meredith to sit beside him. "All this time and you knew about Meredith."

Mycroft snorted. "I am not a fool, Sherlock. I knew you had a girlfriend in your younger days, and I remember how broken hearted you were when you heard of her supposed death a few years after you separated. I am, however, not quite as informed as I would like to be."

"It's none of your business," Sherlock told his brother shortly. "We do not need to tell you anything. You will find out yourself over time, no doubt through your many connections or the people you pay to spy on me constantly. Speaking of, if you want to speak with Meredith, why did you not just kidnap her like you did John?"

"I assumed that since she meant so much to you in the past you would not be impressed with me carting her around like an animal. And I wanted you to be present for this conversation."

"Anyhow, it is none of your business," he repeated.

"Yes, you said that. But I would like to know nonetheless," he told him coolly.

Meredith sighed at Sherlock's stubborn frown. "Sherlock, let me explain it. You two are obviously having just as many problems as when you were younger, and he is going to find out eventually. Why don't you go for a walk?" she suggested kindly, going so far as to lean forward and try to place a hand on his knee, but he jerked himself away from her.

"I am fine, thank you. I can deal with Mycroft," he replied, sounding offended.

"Then why don't you?" Mycroft challenged.

"Because I simply do not see the point in explaining everything when you will found it out yourself anyway!"

"Boys, boys!" John interrupted from where he stood. "Please, don't do this. Sherlock, go for a bloody walk. It'll do you good. Meredith and I can explain everything."

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. "I have experiments to check on in the kitchen. I will go there, but I will return, and when I do, Mycroft better be gone." He stood with a huff and walked out of the room.

John walked over and sat beside Meredith, hoping to be present to help put her at ease.

"So," Mycroft began. "The last I heard of you, Miss Gordon, was that you and your illegitimate daughter were killed in a fire some 20 years ago. Evidently, however, you were not. What happened? I have looked into the matter extensively and have yet to uncover anything out of the ordinary. A gas leak and some burnt toast was all that was given to explain what happened."

Meredith cleared her throat and smoothed her hands over her jeans. "Well, I obviously didn't die in the fire. It just kind of started, and I was freaked, and I couldn't get to Claire's nursery because it was in the way...so I ran. By the time they had announced me dead, it seemed easier to just leave it that way. If I came forward and said I was alive the cops would've taken me in. I was kind of wanted for some slightly illegal things back then, things I did with my brother, Flint, and it just seemed a lot simpler to let them all believe I was dead."

"So you abandoned your baby daughter to keep yourself out of jail," Mycroft stated, obviously unimpressed.

"No," she protested. "I thought Claire was gone for sure when I saw how much of the apartment was on fire, and I assumed she was dead. But I was wrong. She had survived, but only barely. She was taken by a man by the name of Noah Bennet, and he and his wife adopted her. She grew up in their care, believing that she was their daughter until she was 15, when they finally told her the truth. She then went on the hunt for her real parents, which eventually led her to me. I was amazed at how much she had grown, and I was so happy to see her. However, there was a man that had developed an obsession with me, and was hunting me down. My death was faked once more, and Claire now believes me to be dead."

"So your daughter is alive, but she doesn't know that you are? Sounds like a rather interesting situation, but why on earth would you need Sherlock to help you with this?" Mycroft asked curiously.

"I assume you know that I left Sherlock when we were younger after cheating on him with Nathan Petrelli, and I was then pregnant with Nathan's child." Mycroft nodded, so she continued. "Well, it wasn't Nathan's. I told Sherlock that it was because he had never wanted children and I believe that Nathan's family would be able to support me and the child better. By the time I realized I was wrong, it was too late. Nathan's bitch of a mother offered me nothing but money for an abortion, and by that time it was too late for that, not that I would've done it anyway. So I just left to take care of her myself, unable to bring myself to go back to Sherlock for help."

"But you are now," he stated obviously. "What exactly do you want from my brother? He is not exactly what one would call a fatherly man."

"I need his help. I have been keeping tabs on Claire ever since I faked my death the second time, and she's fallen in love with the man that was hunting me. I need to get her away from him and convince her that she can stay with me and I will look after her. I figure it might be easier if I just come clean about everything, which includes who her father is," she replied honestly.

"I will look into things," Mycroft assured her. "How do you plan on approaching her?"

Meredith shrugged. "I figured I'd just message her and ask her to come. She will, I know it. We can talk to her then."

"And you won't be looking into things," Sherlock said from the doorway where he had returned from the kitchen. "I can handle this."

"I hardly think becoming a father is something you have experienced before, Sherlock," Mycroft scoffed. "She is my niece, and it is my duty to contribute in any way to this endeavour. Besides, things will be easier with me on your side."

"I don't need you on my 'side', Mycroft. She is my daughter, and I will deal with this. It will be a welcome challenge into my dull existence, and I do not need you to uncomplicate things. I will take it all as it comes and discover things on my own, without your secrecy and downright irritating nosiness," he insisted coldly, not leaving any room for argument.

"Say what you like, Sherlock, but the time will come when you realize that you are in over your head, and when that time comes, my door is open. I would also like to meet my niece at the earliest convenience and see if she had inherited the family charm," he finished with a smirk, and Meredith chuckled.

"Charm? Please. She's the most darling thing, but let me tell you, she packs a punch. It would do well to not piss her off, but I have a feeling you will anyway. She doesn't need more people lording their authority over her and being protective. She just needs a safe environment where she can recover from her damaging relationship," Meredith told them confidently.

"Are you sure?" Mycroft asked. "Not to be rude, but you hardly know the girl. She was raised by a different woman than you who undoubtedly has impressed her own values upon her, and let's not even begin to consider what her father has convinced her is true. If she has been so foolish as to associate herself with such a dangerous man then something had obviously gone wrong in her life for her to feel as though this is acceptable. She is a Holmes, and she deserves respect. People bowing at her feet and cowering before her, not controlling her. She must be shown what it means to be one of us."

Meredith glared at him. "She is nothing like either of you. Well, not like you are now. She reminds me of Sherlock when he was younger though. She has his smile, his irritating intelligence, but all of that with a womanly twist. She's smart, and her own individual. You can't change who she is, and I don't want you to."

"It hardly matters what you want," Sherlock scoffed from where he stood. "Face it, Meredith, you messed up. Big time. She is in danger because you couldn't bring yourself to go to her and tell her that she doesn't have to be. It's your problem, and if you want me to fix it, it will be my way."

"Well what exactly is 'your way'? We've all heard how Mycroft thinks this should be dealt with, but what about you? Her father? How will you help your daughter?"

"We will take her in here. She and you can stay in 221C. She will become my student, or disciple if you wish. I will teach her the art that is deduction, and she will eventually become a consulting detective like I am. She is a Holmes, as Mycroft said, and she undoubtedly has the brains of one. The matter is closed," he finished before leaving the room dramatically.

Meredith sighed and turned to Mycroft. "Please, just...let me deal with Claire. I know how to get to her. She's a good girl, and in the end she will make the right choice, I know it."

"I do hope you are right, Miss Gordon. This is my niece after all."

* * *

That night, Sherlock decided to go for a walk. This was not a regular 'thing' of his, but the need to get away from the constant reminder of his predicament (Meredith) was a strong one. He had dropped all case work, and was no longer looking for one. His newly found fatherhood was his main focus, an experiment of sorts.

And boy was it unfolding to be an interesting one.

He made his way down Baker Street and out into the rest of London, not really caring where his feet took him. He know the streets of London better than the halls of his own two-bedroom apartment, so getting lost was not an issue. It was a free feeling, to be able to walk wherever he wanted. Like the whole place belonged to him. Like nothing could touch him.

That was, however, untrue, as Mycroft had managed to find him easily enough.

He approached Sherlock when he was taking a break, leaning against the cold, stone wall of an alley way.

"A perfect place to get yourself robbed, don't you think?" Mycroft asked dryly, walking into view.

"Don't you have something to steal? You are government employed after all," Sherlock commented, not even looking at his brother.

"I have taken the entire week off for family reasons," he replied. "I want to help you."

"Help me with what? Claire? I told you to stay out of it," Sherlock almost hissed at him.

"No, you told me not to look into it," Mycroft corrected with a smirk. "You never told me to stay out of it."

"Well I am now," Sherlock shot back, turning to face his brother, his ice blue eyes glaring into Mycroft's cold green ones. "Stay out of it."

Mycroft chuckled. "If I didn't know you better, Sherlock, I'd think you were getting defensive over your daughter."

"And what if I am?"

"Well it's rather unlike you, don't you think? I seem to recall a comment you once made to Miss Adler about 'sentiment' while I was present," he remarked. "Now, what was it again...?" he trailed off, pretending to not remember.

"Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side," Sherlock replied. "Or something to that effect."

"Yes, well, it should seem that this chemical defect has somehow wormed it's way into you, little brother. But I do wonder...are you ready for it?"

"Ready for what?" Sherlock growled impatiently. "Stop playing with me Mycroft. Just tell me what you came here to tell me and be done with it!"

"I didn't come here to tell you anything Sherlock," Mycroft informed him, and he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Well if you didn't come here to tell me anything or preach at me or deliver some grand speech then what the bloody hell are you doing here? It can't possibly be to help me!"

Mycroft chuckled lowly at him. "You know, Moriarty, for all his failings, was right about one thing. You do always want things to be complicated, Sherlock. I am here to help you, but you dismiss this as a possibility because you believe I should have some important motive for being here, some reason to come and follow you all this way. Some reason other than to help my own brother come to terms with the fact that he is now a father and is responsible for assisting and caring for a human other than himself. I suppose I thought you might be a little shaken about this."

"I'm not shaken," Sherlock replied. "It doesn't really bother me at all actually. In fact, it interests me. It is all very...interesting."

Mycroft's eyes widened at his brother. "Oh goodness. You can't really be viewing having a daughter as a _case_, can you?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder._  
_

Sherlock snorted. "No," he told his brother. "I am merely approaching it practically and being honest with myself and others. I do find it interesting."

Mycroft scowled at Sherlock. "You do realize that there is no way for this to end well, Sherlock."

"And how do you figure that, brother?"

"You will tire of them both one day, and you know it. What happens when one day you don't find your daughter interesting? What happens when you realize that she doesn't challenge your intellect as you would like and therefore is irrelevant?" he asked rhetorically. "No matter what you do, someone will get hurt. And the thing is, Sherlock, this bothers you, and you know it. You don't like having to protect people, yet you feel a responsibility to do so now. She is your daughter, after all, and you did love Meredith once. Perhaps you still do."

Sherlock snorted. "I never loved her, and I most certainly do not now."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Must you be so stubborn Sherlock? It is obvious that you still care for her. She is in your flat making you tea for God's sake!"

"What is wrong with her making tea? Lots of people make tea Mycroft. It's hardly an important gesture," Sherlock scoffed.

"Of course it's important Sherlock! Are you blind? Because you are either blind or a fool. Possibly both."

Sherlock grabbed his brother and pushed him against the wall, holding him be the collar. "I may be many things, _brother_, but I am not a fool. Besides, I hardly see how any of this is your business. She might be your niece but she is my daughter."

"I am not the only one that will be interested in this, Sherlock," he told him. "Mummy has always wanted grandchildren. I am simply trying to care for my niece and the granddaughter my mother has so desperately wanted for such a long time. Now, unless you plan on having another illegitimate child or better yet, getting _married_, I suggest you allow this to become a family affair before Mother realizes that you are trying to keep Claire from us."

"I'm not trying to keep Claire from you!" Sherlock denied, finally letting go of his brother and stepping back.

Mycroft straightened himself stiffly. "Say what you like, Sherlock, but Claire is a part of our family now. She's a Holmes, and she needs to understand what it means to be one."

"She's American," Sherlock remarked.

"I didn't have you pegged for a prejudiced man, Sherlock. She may be American, but she has British blood in her. Anyhow, it does no good to discuss who she is and who she will be when we haven't even met her yet. You must speak with Meredith and find a way to get her here in London, preferably without her psychopath boyfriend in tow. Once she is here we will decide what to do. Agreed?"

Sherlock sighed. "Agreed," he half-growled.

Mycroft smiled contentedly. "Good," he commented. "Have a good evening, Sherlock."

And with that he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Sherlock to ponder his words.

* * *

**There it is! I hope you enjoyed. :) Please leave a review and let me know what you thought!**

**Next chapter...**

**Claire gets some help for her 'condition', and Meredith and Sherlock finally reach an agreement regarding their daughter.**


	3. A Father's Protection

**AN: Here's the next chapter! Enjoy! :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but the plot and any OCs. **

* * *

**A Father's Protection**

**_I cannot think of any need in childhood greater than the need for a father's protection._**

**_-Sigmund Freud_**

* * *

"Ugh. No," Tracy said simply as she looked up from where she at Claire. "The red one was much better. Brown just makes you look...old."

Claire bit her lip and looked in the mirror. "Yeah, the red one was a nicer color, but I like this cut much better."

Tracy frowned and stood, walking over to stand beside her in front of the mirror. She put her hands on her hips. "I don't think so. The red dress is a tighter fit, but honey you have the body for it. It's not like it's ridiculously short or low-cut or anything. But this one makes you look like a stay-at-home Mom."

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Is that really a horrible thing? Is the thought of just staying home and being a mother really that terrible Tracy?" she asked much louder than she had intended.

"No," Tracy replied. "But you're not a mother, and you don't stay at home. You are a beautiful, successful young woman with quite the man on her arm. You go out, you party until the early hours of the morning, you then stupidly stay up with Gabriel doing I don't wanna know what, and then you pinch your nose to make yourself sound sick on the phone so Matt will give you the day off work...you should dress the part."

"And what exactly does someone who pretends to be sick wear, Tracy?" Claire asked, placing her hands on her hips. "Which, by the way, I do not do."

"Gabriel has caught you doing it several times. And the funny thing is the thought has not yet occurred to Matt that you can't actually get sick." They both laughed.

"So...you really think the red one?" Claire asked, and her friend nodded firmly.

"Definitely. You are sexy and you should know it!"

"Thanks for that Trace," Claire giggled before walking back into the change rooms. She took off the brown dress and hung it up on the hanger beside the red one before turning to look at herself in the mirror. She had changed a lot since when she had first discovered her ability. She was an inch or two taller, and had developed a curvy body. She was still considered short, but not as much as in her younger days. Her cheek bones had become more defined, and her jaw had changed slightly to give her a more adult look. Her hair was long, down to her mid-back, and was almost golden in color due to the amount of sun she had been getting. Her skin was well tanned as she didn't have to worry about getting sunburnt and could lie in the sun all day with no worry.

She had gotten used to her new, more adult look, but now she felt as though she was changing. Her hips were shifting outward, making her tighter jeans impossible to fit into. She didn't quite have a baby bump yet, but her stomach felt heavier. Then again, maybe she was just imaging this, but she liked to think it was because she was carrying another human being inside of her. She hadn't actually taken a pregnancy test yet, but what other reason could there be for nausea? She didn't get sick after all.

With a great sigh, she pulled on her loose, baggy jeans and slipped on her long sleeved navy blue top. She picked up the dresses and walked out of the dressing room to find Tracy leaning against a wall and texting someone.

"Ready," Claire announced loudly, and Tracy looked up.

"Yep, you go get the dress, I'll be there in a minute. Claude is wondering what the legal age limit is for jumping castles."

Claire chuckled. "I do not wanna know where he is right now," she said before walking over to the counter to pay for the red dress. They then left the store together.

"Where to now?" Tracy asked Claire, looking around at the different stores around them in the mall.

"I'm starved. Let's get some food," Claire said, walking in the direction of the cafeteria.

"Great idea! How about coffee and donuts?" Tracy suggested, and Claire winced. Coffee wasn't exactly an option for her at this point.

"Sure," Claire agreed half-heartedly. She spotted a cafe. "Here looks good."

They walked over to the small cafe and seated themselves at the table in the corner.

A waitress made her way over to them. "Hi, what can I get for you?"

"Hey. I'll have a coffee and one of those pink donuts please," Tracy said before looking at Claire.

"I, uh, I'll just get a donut and some tea," Claire told her, and the woman scribbled the orders down on the pad of paper.

"Awesome. I'll have to you ASAP," she said brightly before trotting off.

Claire turned back to Tracy and saw a shocked look on the older woman's face.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"Tea?" Tracy asked incredulously. "You never drink tea!"

"Well, I thought it might be good to try something new," Claire supplied weakly, and Tracy glared at her.

"Claire, you're a terrible liar. You hate tea! There is no reason for you to not drink coffee!" She paused. "Unless..." A look of realization dawned on her face. "Oh my God!"

"What?" Claire asked, biting her lip.

"You're pregnant!" she exclaimed loudly, and the ten other people in the store stopped and looked at them.

Claire sank into her chair slowly, burying her head in her hands. "Could you say that a little louder Tracy?" she asked rhetorically. "I don't think China quite heard you."

Tracy laughed happily and clapped her hands, leaning forward and looking at her friend. "So are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you preggers? Knocked up? Is there a bun in your oven?"

Claire blushed and sank further into her chair. "I think so...I don't know!"

"Well what signs are there? Have you peed on a stick? Does Gabriel know? Oh my God, is he even the father?"

Claire hit her hand. "Of course he's the father! And as for your other question, I threw up when we were on holidays, and I don't ever get sick. I hate the smell of pasta-"

"But you love pasta!"

"I know! I haven't taken a test yet, but I think I am. I've never gotten sick in my life, and all of a sudden I'm spilling my guts into a toilet bowl? Nothing else makes sense," she explained, and Tracy giggled.

"I can't believe you're having kids before me!" she exclaimed. "Oh gosh, you two are gonna be parents! And damn good ones too."

"Thanks Trace," Claire said with a smile.

The waitress returned. "Here we go. A coffee, tea, and two donuts. Enjoy!" She set the plates down before them. "Oh, and congratulations," she said to Claire, who turned red once more.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"No problem," she replied with a smile before turning on her heel and all but skipping to the next table.

Claire turned to Tracy. "Is it just me or is that woman _way _too cheerful? It's annoying."

"Oh she's just being nice. It's all your hormones making you grumpy."

Claire rolled her eyes. "We don't even know for sure that I am pregnant."

"Yeah, well then let's make sure. Drink your tea faster! We can go and get a pregnancy test!" Tracy said, obviously excited.

Claire smiled at her enthusiasm. "Fine," she sighed, gulping down her tea.

* * *

Half an hour later the two women entered Tracy's apartment with bags full of clothes and shoes they had bought on their shopping spree. However, the only bag either of them were thinking about was the little brown paper bag containing five different kinds of pregnancy tests.

They dumped all the bags on the floor and Tracy ripped through the tape keeping the bag shut. She tipped the tests out into Claire's empty hands.

"Do you need any water to help you pee?" Tracy asked, and Claire shook her head hurriedly.

"Nope, that tea is doing me just fine," she said with a wince as she pushed her thighs together.

"Well, go pee!" Tracy exclaimed, and Claire nodded, but didn't move. "What's wrong?"

"What if there's something wrong with my pee and the test can't get a good reading? I'm not exactly human!" she worried.

"Well we'll find out if your pee's normal or not in nine months then, won't we? GO!"

"But what if-"

"Claire Bennet get your ass on that toilet seat and pee on those sticks or I swear to God I will make you!" she yelled, and Claire winced.

"Okay, okay, I'm going," she said before finally turning and walking to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Tracy took a deep breath and leaned against the counter, looking up at the ceiling as she tapped her fingers on the vinyl.

And she waited.

And waited.

Finally, after three minutes, Claire came out of the bathroom.

Tracy whirled to face her friend and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Claire nodded slightly and was then promptly tackled by Tracy who hugged her tightly.

"OH MY GOD I'M GONNA BE AN AUNTIE!" she yelled loudly, jumping up and down. "Oh God this is so amazing...we're gonna have a little Claire...or a little Gabriel...or both! Do you think it could be twins? Does it feel like twins?"

Claire laughed at her. "I'm not even showing yet!"

"Yeah, well, I think it's twins. I have a feeling it's twins. You could so be carrying two human beings right now! Isn't that exciting? Here, you have to eat something or they won't grow...ummm..." Tracy looked around and pulled a half-eaten cold pizza out of the refrigerator. "Here! This has meat and vegetables and cheese and-"

"And mould!" Claire announced with a wrinkled nose as she shoved it away from her. "Tracy, I'm fine. I ate half an hour ago!"

Tracy sighed. "I know, I know...I just want you to be okay, and the babies too."

"Baby," Claire corrected. "I doubt it's twins."

"But I have a feeling!" Tracy whined.

"Well I don't know what your feeling is, but I don't feel like pushing two bowling balls out of my vagina," Claire said with a snort.

"Well your vagina will magically heal. Plus it won't even hurt while your giving birth. If I ever find a nice guy and want to settle down, can we use you as a surrogate carrier for our baby? You could just cook him or her for nine months and then pop 'em out with no problem, and I wouldn't have to do the whole child birth thing."

Claire looked at her seriously. "No Tracy, I will not be an oven for your bun."

"Okay, what the hell is going on here?" a voice drawled, and the women turned to see Claude standing in the doorway.

"Knew I shouldn't have given him a key," Tracy muttered to herself.

"Tracy and I were just talking about stuff," Claire told him with a charming smile.

He smirked at her. "Well I highly doubt that," he said as he wandered over to them and planted a kiss on Claire's cheek. "It's nice to see you back poppet."

"Nice to be back Claude," Claire replied.

He nodded. "Now, what's this about a bun in an oven? I'm starving."

Tracy's eyes widened at him.

"Tracy, don't," Claire warned.

"What?! He just hinted at eating my baby!" she yelled, and Claire rolled her eyes.

"He only just got here. Calm down. He's thinking about bread, not your unborn child," Claire assured her with a snort.

"Wait, what's this about kids and buns?" Claude asked with confusion before gasping. "Oh, I get it! Bun in an oven as in baby in womb...did some bastard knock you up Tracy? Because let me tell you now, if that man doesn't stick by you and your bub I will rip off his head and feed it to my pet alligator."

"You don't have an alligator," Claire pointed out with a grin.

"Well I'll get one!" he exclaimed.

Tracy laughed. "No, I'm not pregnant. Claire is."

Claude's eyes widened and he turned to the former cheerleader. "Really?" he gasped, and she nodded with a smile, her left hand absently rubbing her stomach. He embraced her tightly. "That's wonderful!"

"Thanks Claude."

"But I'm a little confused. If Claire's the one that's got a 'bun in her oven', then why did Tracy attack me for apparently wanting to eat her baby?" he asked.

Claire laughed. "Tracy wanted to use me as a surrogate for any children she has in the future because apparently pregnancy is just too painful for her to bear."

Claude frowned. "So you would inflict all that pain on your closest of friends?" he asked Tracy.

"She doesn't even feel pain!" Tracy argued.

"Yeah, well I can still get morning sickness, as I have been so lucky to discover," Claire grumbled.

Claude smiled and gave her a one-armed hug, placing a kiss on her temple. "If it's a boy, Claude would make an excellent middle name."

Claire chuckled. "I'll think about it. But, for now, I have to get home to see my baby daddy," she announced with a giggle. "You two have fun."

"Well, you look after yourself and that little one," Claude ordered her. "And give your man a whack on the head for me will you? He hasn't come to see me since you two got back from your honeymoon and I've decided to take offence."

"He's been busy, but I'll be sure to hit him for you," Claire promised. "And it wasn't a honeymoon. We're not married."

"Well you won't be able to say that for long," Tracy smirked. "You're starting a family, Claire, and for all Gabe's stupidity he knows that a ring seals the deal for good."

Claire smiled sadly. "I know, and I love him and I really wanna marry him, but...it's complicated. But I do know that I am happy with the way things are right now, minus the vomiting. I am just going to take each day as it comes. Anyway, bye!" she called, giving them a wave before walking out of the house to catch a taxi home.

* * *

Meredith walked through the flat, searching for John. She had been staying there for three days, which should have meant she would be used to the place but it was remarkably confusing for such a small space, and she often almost got herself lost.

"John!" she called, and she heard a reply from somewhere to her left.

"I'm in here!"

She followed the sound and eventually found herself in a small area where John was sorting through some washing. "Oh, wow. I've been looking for the laundry," Meredith commented. "I've been here for three days, so you'd think I would've found it by now, but..."

John chuckled. "It is a little confusing if you're not used to it I suppose. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes," Meredith nodded, remembering what she had meant to ask him about. "Sherlock hasn't eaten in days, and I'm starting to get worried. Has this whole father thing upset him or something? He seems strange, and he just plays his violin and does his experiments and doesn't eat or anything, and I don't know what to do."

John face her a soft smile. "It's okay, Meredith. He's always like this. Fatherhood isn't exactly something he has a whole lot of experience with, but I doubt he's really thinking about it too much. He's more likely to be composing or something. It's fine, don't worry about it."

"Thanks John. I was wondering what the best time would be to approach him about the best way to contact Claire and get her here in London so she can meet him. What do you think?" she asked, still slightly nervous.

"I think that no matter when you ask him he will be his usual arrogant and vague self," he replied honestly, and Meredith couldn't help but smile.

"I know, I just...I don't know what to do here. He's not the Sherlock I knew when we were younger. I mean, sure, he was always brilliant, but back then he was more..."

"Human?" John finished for her, and she nodded. "I guess I'll just have to take your word for it."

"Well, I'm gonna go talk to him," Meredith announced, more for her own benefit than to keep the doctor informed.

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

She turned away and walked into the other room, heading for the sound of violin playing. "Sherlock," she began, trying to let him know she was standing there.

There was no reply.

"Sherlock!" she repeated herself, louder this time.

He turned slightly to look at her sideways. "I'm busy," he told her shortly.

"But I need to talk to you," she insisted, stepping closer.

"I told you, I'm busy," he replied obviously, going back to his playing.

"Sherlock, you've been playing that violin constantly for hours! You can stop for a moment to listen to me," she reasoned.

"Or you could simply speak as I play."

"But then how do I know you're actually listening to me?" she asked him, and he shrugged.

"You don't," he replied simply.

She sighed loudly, but he made no comment. "Okay, whatever. We need to decide how to contact Claire."

"You can decide."

"But...you're her father too!"

"I am aware of this fact, but you are the only one that has met her, and therefore it would be logical that you would be the one to decide the best way to get her in this city."

Meredith groaned and combed her hand through her hair. "Fathers are supposed to protect their children."

"Well I'm not a usual father. Besides, she has two other 'fathers' to that for her," Sherlock replied. Usually someone would have said such a sentence with sarcasm or a slight harshness, but Sherlock remained emotionless.

Meredith made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. "You...you are..."

"Brilliant?" he finished for her. "Yes."

Meredith glared at him. "You know what? I think I will ask John."

"Well he would have more of a clue than I," Sherlock said amusedly before turning away, still playing his violin.

"Fine, I will," Meredith told him before storming out of the room.

* * *

Claire sighed, rolling over in her sleep. She briefly glanced at the content form of Gabriel beside her, and smiled at the weight of the arm that was still draped over her, despite her many movements during the night. It was now resting over her lower stomach, his fingertips grazing the bed sheets on the other side of Claire.

Smiling slightly, Claire picked up the arm and placed it back on her boyfriend's side of the bed before slowly sitting up, rubbing at her eyes as her sight adjusted to the darkness and the slight moonlight coming in from the window let her see more of the room. She turned and placed her feet on the ground and stood shakily, trying to find her slippers on the ground. After the struggle to find which one went on which foot, she slipped her feet into them and tip-toed out of the room and into the rest of the house they shared.

She walked into the kitchen and immediately sought out the fridge, looking at the many different types of juices that were inside. They small grocery store at the end of their road seemed to specialize in juices, and Gabriel seemed to have a specific love for them. There must have been eight different kinds inside, but she opted for the usual orange juice. Pulling out the carton, she shook it for a while before pouring it into a glass from the cupboard.

As she sat herself up on the bench and began to sip on her juice, her phone went off. She looked over to the counter where it sat, and leant over so she could reach it. Flipping it open, she opened the new message in her inbox that was from an unknown number.

_I am in London, and am not dead. I will explain everything, but I need you to come. Please. _

_Love you._

_-Meredith _

* * *

**:O **

**R&R!**


End file.
